Wichita eagle., 1887-10-01

oW1 were dart. The Lady Lucrece walled
In the chamber where the candles stood dark
In their silver sconces, and only the moon Lit
the white marble which her garment swept
She waited long; the voice did not come.
The moon reached the west, and still the lady
paced the floor. At last the longed for mel
ody, pure, vaulting, triumphant, burst into
song of victory and love; but ere it had sung
a score of words it was choked into silence.
A sound arose to the lady's ears of passionate
weeping: there was a discordant jangle Of
the lutte, as though a disregardful hand had
brushed it heavily, and the night wore on in
silence The next day no one saw the jester
Massimliani nor the Lady Lucrece till it was
night-a festal highland he stately apart
ments were ablaze with light. Never had
Pisa known such festival Liberty reigned
in hall and howell, and Lady Lucrece was the
the central figure of the festival. She sat at
the end of the hall on lais Robes of azure
silk fell all about her; jewels looped up her
hair, glittered on her arms, clasped her white
neck and shone in the fastening of her slip
pers About her were flowers, perfume,
light, music. men who were courtly, women
who were beautiful There were marbles,
carvings, tapestries, statues and fountains.
But the deep fire in the eyes Of the Lady Lu-
crece did not catch its inspiration from any
of these things. 1t was midnight when she
ordered the music to stop. She had been
dancing and all the sensuous rhythm of the
motion seemed impersonated in her. She
went back to the dais and stood there, young
and fair, in the shadow of the ancient
carvings A look of maidenliness, unwonted
in her, spread itself over her face. She came
of tyrants, and the blood of the tyrant was
in her; but now she looked as gentle as any
maid that ever begged her lover for another
kiss
Il have sworn an OATH" said she, "and To-
night 1 rlust keep it. The people Of Pisa
have long wished me to take a lord, but
have found none whom desired But for
many nights some one has sung beneath my
window. | do not know the man, but my
soul is welded to the voice, and / will marry
him alone who can prove to me tonight that
it is" Her hauteur had returned. She was
again the daughter of line of dukes; she
was commanding and not seeing. No one re-
piled or moved. The lacy spoke again:
Surely he need not fear; he may trust me. y
She waited still; a woman's tremors came
back to her HE must have loved me,n she
cried; sit was the voice of love. Let me bu'
look On him who sang those songs to me-
She held out her arms. The jewels on her
bosom rose and fell. She seemed half sinking
beneath tho tremulous agitation. Suddenly
from behind the back Of that great chair
upon the dais there sprang Massimiliani, the
hideous jester.
at was II' he cried. at was IF
A murmur, half wrathful and half jeering
h,,hl NP lon Prov, he
company.
"Fooli' cried the lady, ''this is no time for
jests."
at was l." he cried. at was II"
"Let us hear your voice, knave!" cried a
saucy little fellow of 16. He flung coin
toward the fool Massimiliani seized the
coin and flung it in the young mobiles face.
The bent back that had never Strengthened
seemed almost to straighten now, and voice
full of passionate sadness, yet melodious and
thrilling, came out of form which seemed
made TO be the covering for only unclean
things. 1t was All existent paradox; an as
founding incongruity; the antithesis of facts.
And as he sang, hope leaped into his eyes
and triumph into his voice. Desire belongs
not alone to Adcnis; even Caliban may
love. The lady's head was bowed upon her
breast. The song he had chosen was the un-
finished one she listened to the night before.
The humpback bent forward in hideous I'M
portunity, but the lady's face was Swallowed
with her silken scarf. He grew mad with
a tumult Of wild surmises as to what he,
mood might be. At length she raised he1
face and he saw. 1t was the tyrannical dis
dain of her race-the unspeakable contempt
of a ruler for a presumptuous and mental
knave-the mad modification Of an outraged
woman and the chaste pique of a maiden. he
saw and comprehended at glance. He knew
it was all over. The song died upon his lips.
The swords of the mobiles, which amazement
had kept i'll their sheaths, were out Mas.
similiani leaped toward his mistress, caught
her in his arms, kissed her, and as the fierce
Italians surged up to him he buried his sti.
letto in his breast.
So died the last jester Of Pisa.-Elia w.
Peattie III The Argonaut.